


and by morning

by Chrome



Series: and by morning [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Nothing graphic but if this is a difficult subject don't read, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 01:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14368380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome/pseuds/Chrome
Summary: Yuri doesn't want to know, but the alternative is not-knowing, which is unbearable.---An encounter at the World Championship Banquet reveals a secret more than a decade old. Yuri practices being a nice person, semi-underage drinking, and Monster Hunter. Yuuri practices Cyrillic and difficult conversations. Viktor practices honesty.





	and by morning

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Clean" by Taylor Swift. I like [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRSskYT_Hic) cover by Travis Atreo, if you want to listen while reading.
> 
> Thank you so much to [TheWaywardSong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaywardSong) for beta-reading! You're amazing and I can't thank you enough.

Yuri is in a shitty mood from the start of the banquet, really, because  _ fourth place. _ It’s his free skate that’s the problem, he knows. He was in second after the short program, after all, just tenths of a point behind Viktor and trailed by Katsudon. He’s only a little bitter about the former. Viktor’s short program was stunning, after all.  _ Just when we thought he couldn’t surprise us,  _ someone had written online—something that Yuri only knows because Katsuki had read it out loud while grinning at Viktor, because they’re sickening.

Yuri probably wouldn’t feel bitter about it at all (who is he kidding, he definitely would) if he didn’t know that the program was about how bad Viktor wanted to rail Katsudon. 

_ Nah,  _ Mila had said when Georgi had brought it up.  _ Katsuki’s definitely on top. _ Yuri doesn’t know what they decided, because he’d made retching noises and removed himself from the conversation. He doesn’t want to know.

_ Fourth place _ , Yuri thinks. He scowls at bronze-medalist JJ and then scowls a little bit less across the room at silver-medalist Yuuri, who is for some reason wearing Viktor’s gold medal instead of his own. He doesn’t want to know and goes to look for Otabek.

Instead, he gets stopped by a man who he vaguely recognizes as old-white-ISU-dude-number-three. Yuri isn’t good with names and he’s never really talked to the officials without Yakov involved because Yakov says he “has no manners” and “will only get himself in trouble.” Yuri has never bothered arguing because he doesn’t _want_ to talk to the ISU anyway.

“That was some impressive skating,” the man says.

“Not impressive enough, apparently,” Yuri says, sharp and bitter. He’s not really bitter in the way that makes him sound, he realizes. It sounds like he thinks he was underscored. He wasn’t; he messed up a step sequence, fell on a jump, and other people skated clean programs. The only person he’s angry at is himself but the world makes a much easier punching bag.

He’s kind of expecting the man to express disapproval or get out of the line of fire of his temper, but he doesn’t. He just smiles sort of indulgently, like Yuri is a dumb child. 

“You’re still young,” the man says. “The future of skating.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Yuri says, just to be contrary.

“This is lovely,” the man says. He gestures at Yuri’s hair. It takes Yuri a moment to realize this. Lilia hadn’t been around after he showered, so he had just stuffed it back into a clumsy ponytail.  “May I?”

He reaches out to touch Yuri’s hair but before he can, there’s a bright voice behind him. “Yurio!”

“Katsudon,” he says, and ducks out of the man’s reach. “That’s not my name.”

“Come dance with me,” Yuuri says. Yuri looks, but the older skater’s face isn’t flushed or anything—he hasn’t been drinking, or at least not enough to matter. Yuri tries to pull away but Yuuri grabs his wrist.

“Come on.” He doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of Yuri either and Yuri has no idea what’s going on.

Yuuri’s hand is still tight around Yuri’s wrist, though, so he follows. He barely manages a “Later,” at ISU-man before Yuuri is tugging them through a cluster of people to where Viktor is waiting.

“Hallway, I think,” Viktor says.

“What the fuck,” says Yuri. Yuuri doesn’t let go of him, so he follows them out of the room into the hall of the hotel.

“Sorry,” Yuuri says, releasing him as soon as they’re out of the room. “Sorry, just—”

“What is going on?” Yuri asks. He’s trying to figure out what compelled them to drag him out here. He doesn’t think he was making enough of a nuisance of himself for them to be on a mission from Yakov.  “…is  _ dedushka  _ okay?”

“He’s fine,” Viktor says. “Everything’s fine.”

“Okay, then what the fuck?” Yuri demands.

Viktor and Yuuri exchange a look. They’ve started to do that, communicating with just a glance at each other. Yuri guesses it’s better than the daily drama of two people deeply in love and utterly incapable of communicating with each other, but it’s still annoying.

“What did Romano want?” Viktor asks.

“Who?” Yuri finally realizes he means the ISU guy. “Fuck, I don’t know. To be weird I guess. He’s creepy.”

“Has he done something?” Katsuki demands, his voice going up in pitch. “Yuri, has he ever bothered you before?”

“What?” Yuri looks at him. “I’ve literally never talked to him before, he just seems creepy.” Yuuri and Viktor are doing the looking-at-each-other thing again. “ _ What? _ ”

“He didn’t touch you or anything?” Yuuri finally says.

“Oh my god,” Yuri says. “No. Wait, what? Has he done that?” He feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over his brain.

Yuuri opens his mouth and shuts it.

“Yes,” Viktor says, finally.

“Fuck,” Yuri says. “I thought he was creepy, but...”

“You should stay away from him,” Viktor advises. “If he tries to approach you, walk away. We’ll keep an eye out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Yuri says, and then his brain starts to thaw. “Wait, how do you know this?”

They exchange another look, except Yuri thinks he can read this one,  _ how much do we tell him? _

Yuuri looks at him like he’s steeling himself to say something. “Yurio,” he begins.

Yuri has a sudden flash of Katsuki standing in front of the ISU-creep. He sees the younger Yuuri who’d cried in a bathroom stall, the Yuuri who had fallen apart during or after every other competition because of his nerves, and suddenly he  _ doesn’t want to know.  _ “Don’t. Don’t tell me,” he says.

“Okay,” Viktor says smoothly, with only a half-beat of pause when Yuuri freezes. “Yurio. If anyone ever makes you uncomfortable, you do not have to be nice to them. You can come and find us anytime.”

Yuuri nods. “We have your back.”

Viktor hesitates. “And if you ever want to talk…” he glances at Yuuri.

“You know where we are,” Yuuri says, and laces his hand with Viktor’s.

“Okay,” Yuri replies and beats a hasty retreat. He goes back in to the banquet and finds Otabek. He doesn’t so much as catch a glimpse of the man again, but the conversation plays on loop in his head for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

The thing is that Yuri really doesn’t want to know. Whatever it is, it’s nightmarish and private and he doesn’t want to think about Katsudon that way, ever. But he can’t get it out of his head,  _ he didn’t touch you or anything? _

As much as he doesn’t want to know, he has to, or he’ll be stuck in this hell of not-knowing forever.

It takes him two weeks to decide this and by then April has bled into May, and he’s halfway to their apartment when he remembers that Viktor and Yuuri are in Hasetsu. It’s only two blocks back to the ice rink; Yuri’s a little jealous of that four block commute. But still.

It turns out to be a good thing, because it strikes Yuri that he has no idea how to handle this. He and Yuuri get along pretty well, most of the time, except that Yuri has no idea how to react to his anxiety. (Yuri’s main solution to problems is yelling, and for some reason that doesn’t work so well on Katsudon.)

Also, he should probably not show up on their doorstep with no warning.

So he decides to take the month of their absence to practice being nice. He’s still skating regularly, even without much official training, and he tests it out on Mila. He bites back the worst insults that spring to mind, tries to curse less, and doesn’t yell at her even when she picks him up because  _ aww Yura you’re growing, I won’t be able to do this much longer! _

When she sets him down and he merely glowers, she asks if he’s hit his head.

“No!” he shouts, and skates off.

That goes well. So does googling “what to say to someone who was molested,” if “well” actually meant “entirely unhelpful.”

Yuri wants a script. Yuri wants step-by-step instructions. Yuri doesn’t want to have this conversation, except he has to, because he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to look Katsudon in the eye until he knows for sure.

He sees them at the rink briefly when they return at the beginning of June. They seem—normal, really. Viktor hasn’t cut his hair since Worlds, it looks like, and it’s long enough for him to clip back when he skates. Yuuri has gained a little weight, and Yuri can’t decide whether he should be mocking him for it. He errs on the side of caution, considering the impending conversation, and sticks to “katsudon” instead of “piggy.”

“Hi Yurio!” Yuuri calls. He skates over to him and smiles.

“Hi,” Yuri says, with less enthusiasm. “How was Japan? How’s Yuuko?”

“It was good,” Yuuri says. “It was nice to see everyone. Yuuko is doing well. She and the triplets miss you. She says you should come with us next time.”

“Yeah,” Yuri says. “Maybe I will.” He likes Hasetsu, he can admit that. He likes Yuuko and the triplets. He’s never had siblings, but it they were like the girls he wouldn’t mind. They’re cute, not that he’d ever say it out loud.

“Do you have programs yet?” Yuuri asks.

“No,” Yuri says. “I just started really training again this week. I think Yakov’s asking Lilia to choreograph.”

“You don’t sound happy about that,” Yuuri notes.

Yuri shrugs. “I mean, she just doesn’t get me, I guess. I don’t want to do more ballet programs.”

Yuuri makes a humming noise. “I used to dance ballet,” Yuuri says. “I’m going to do a ballet program this year, I think. But you’re right, that’s much more me than it is you.”

“Yeah,” Yuri says. “Hey, Katsudon.”

“Yeah?” Yuuri tilts his head.

“I want to...talk...about Worlds. The banquet, I mean.” He stares at his skates. “When is good?”

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “Yes. Let me... What about tomorrow night?”

“Okay,” Yuri says. “When?”

“Let me…” he glances at Viktor, who is at the other end of the rink, talking to Yakov. “Let  _ us  _ text you.”

“Okay,” Yuri says, and watches Yuuri skate away.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri texts him later that day,   _ 6:30 tomorrow is good!  _ Yuri shows up at 6:20 and hovers for a full minute before he knocks.

Yuuri looks surprised when he opens the door. “You’re early!”

“Yeah, so?” Yuri says, and then mentally kicks himself.  _ So much for being nice. _

“Come in,” Yuuri says. “Viktor just ran to the store, he’ll be right back.”

Yuri nods.  He takes off his shoes automatically and sets them on the little shelf. It makes sense, he guesses, that Yuuri wants Viktor to be there before he says anything.

“You can put your skate bag wherever,” Yuuri says. “Are you staying overnight?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri answers.

“By the door is fine, then,” Yuuri says. Yuri sets the bag down and follows the older skater into the kitchen, out of nothing better to do. He stands silent for what feels like an hour, before he is spared by the sound of the door.

_ “Tadaima,”  _ Viktor calls.

“ _ Okaerinasai,”  _ Yuuri calls back. “Yurio’s here, we’re in the kitchen.”

He can hear the sounds of Viktor taking off his shoes and heading towards the kitchen. He sets a bag from the convenience store down the street on the counter; the only thing in it is a bottle of cheap vodka. “Hi,” Viktor greets him.

“Hi,” Yuri replies. “So.”

Viktor walks to the cabinet and pulls out a glass. “So, you wanted to talk about what happened at the banquet.” He fills the glass with ice, and for a minute the growling of the ice dispenser is the only sound.

“Yeah,” Yuri begins, then can’t come up with what to say. He can’t even make himself look at Yuuri. Viktor sets the glass of ice on the counter and retrieves a bottle opener from a drawer to open the vodka.

Yuri finally gets the courage to look back at Yuuri, because Viktor  _ isn’t.  _ Yuuri isn’t looking at him, though. He’s looking at Viktor, and Viktor still isn’t looking at anyone. He gets the bottle open and pours vodka into the glass like it’s water.

Yuri’s brain stops working, just for a second, as he rapidly reevaluates the situation.

He’s been psyching himself up for a solid month to talk to Katsudon about his childhood trauma. He has not been preparing, in any way shape or form, to have that conversation with Viktor.

_ Abort mission. _ “I—“ Yuri begins.

Viktor sets the vodka bottle down on the counter with a clink. He turns and beams at Yuri, his most insincere press smile. “What did you want to know?”

“Don’t do that,” Yuuri says, briefly sparing Yuri from answering. “Don’t—Vitya.”

“What do you want me to—“ the smile vanishes in an instant. There is a split second of anguish across his features before they smooth out again into some facsimile of calm.  “Okay. Let’s sit down.” He turns away again, picks up the glass, and walks into the living room, Yuuri on his heels.Yuri takes a minute to follow them, and when he does, he hovers in between the doorway and the furniture.

“Just,” Yuri starts, because there isn’t any way he can say  _ I thought this was about Katsudon and I don’t know how to have this conversation with you. _ He thought a lot about what to say to Yuuri, the right way to handle it. He has no idea what to do with a Viktor who isn’t perfectly in control. “…what happened?”

Viktor laughs without mirth and settles onto the sofa. Yuuri settles next to him and hooks his chin over Viktor’s shoulder. The way Viktor leans into his fiance is cute only divorced of context; it looks to Yuri like the warm weight against him is the only thing keeping him from drowning. Then Viktor looks at Yuri, his expression clear and serious. “Well? Sit down.”

Yuri sits, a little awkwardly, in the armchair. Normally he likes the armchair but it feels too big for a second, even though he’s grown an inch and a half in the last month so his legs don’t fit tucked under him like a cat the way they used to. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Viktor replies, instantly. Yuuri makes a little noise in his throat, but Viktor continues. “This conversation is…not one I expect to enjoy, but you do not need to worry about me.”

In the last three-minute deluge of information, Yuri hadn’t even considered whether he should be worrying about Viktor. He was definitely worrying about Katsudon, back when he thought this was about him, but that was because he’s seen Yuuri’s anxiety. He’s seen the flood before; this had just felt like unexpectedly stumbling upon the mouth of the river.

Yuri should have recognized the signs sooner; the fake smile and the glass of vodka on the coffee table. It wasn’t Yuuri, it was Viktor. Maybe Makkachin has better instincts; he hears the clink of the dog’s collar as she wanders into the room and settles at Viktor’s feet. Viktor immediately buries a hand in her fur.

“When?” Yuri asks.

Viktor hums, counting on his fingers. “You would have been three.”

Yuri does the math. Sixteen minus three is thirteen. Twenty-eight minus thirteen is fifteen. Viktor was fifteen years old, younger than Yuri is now. For some reason, that is what stings.

_ Who knows besides me? _

“Who did you tell?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, in an instant.

“I meant when it…happened,” Yuri says. He looks at Yuuri for help.

“No one,” Viktor says.

“What.”

“I told no one,” Viktor says. They’re speaking English, presumably for Yuuri’s benefit, but Viktor’s accent is getting a little worse, as though he is distracted. “I told Yuuri in January, and he is the first one.”

“Then who,” Yuri says. “Then who did you tell.”

“My therapist,” Viktor says. “I assume Yuuri told his therapist, so she would also know.”

“And then who?” Yuri says. His heart is pounding. He thinks he knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to hear it out loud.

“Well,” Viktor says, and smiles at him. It doesn’t look fake, just brittle. “I suppose now I have told you!”

“What about Yakov?” Yuri tries.

“What  _ about  _ Yakov?”

“Weren’t you—you lived with him!”

“How could I tell Yakov?” Viktor asks, rhetorically. “I suppose if I had seen him right then, that night, I would have told him. I would have told anyone, I think. But I didn’t, and then I couldn’t find a way to say it. Then it had been too long, and what was the point anyway.”

“Lilia,” Yuri says, a little desperately.

“I don’t remember,” Viktor says. “I think perhaps they were fighting at the time, or she wasn’t there, maybe. But no, I didn’t tell her, I didn’t tell anyone.”

Viktor told Yuuri in January. Viktor was twenty-eight in January, twenty-eight minus fifteen is thirteen.  Yuri is sixteen years old; he can’t imagine holding onto a secret for thirteen years. He can’t imagine that Viktor has held on to this particular one for thirteen years and no one had even begun to suspect.

“What did—? How did— _ fuck!”  _ Yuri says, emphatically.

“How did it happen?” Viktor says.

“No—yes. I don’t know. I don’t want to know, I…” Yuri hunches in the armchair.

“Come here,” Yuuri says, softly. He’s been quiet this whole time, latched onto Viktor like a barnacle.

Yuuri slides against the arm of the loveseat, tugging Viktor with him to make room for Yuri on the other side. Yuri sits carefully, like he’s on the subway and trying not to touch the other passengers.

“Yura,” Viktor says, “I won’t break.”

When he glances over Viktor is looking at him. He makes himself relax, slumping down on the loveseat, his shoulder digging into Viktor’s side. It can’t be comfortable but he doesn’t complain.

“I feel like a dick,” Yuri says, sharp and sudden. “How are you so fucking calm about this?”

Yuri can feel the movement of Viktor shrugging. “Vodka,” he says, even though he hasn’t touched the glass.

“But,” Yuri begins, and then stops.  _ How are you so calm about this  _ always?

“Yura,” Viktor says. “How it happened is, I wanted to be  _ nice  _ and  _ polite _ , and by the time I realized a line was crossed I didn’t know how to get away without being rude. I was fifteen years old and he worked for the ISU. It felt like he had my whole future in his hands. Things were different then,” Viktor adds. “It wasn’t talked about the way it is now. In the media, I mean.” Viktor is tapping his finger against his leg, but it’s about his typical level of fidgeting. He doesn’t look like he’s about to shatter anymore; he just looks tired.

“I’m going to murder him,” Yuri says, because he doesn’t know what else to say and because he wants to. He can feel the rage welling up inside him at this stupid old creep, for talking to Yuri, for hurting Viktor, for  _ daring to exist. _

Viktor lets out a surprised laugh.

“I  _ am _ ,” Yuri insists. “No one would suspect me.”

“Yurio.” Yuuri is smiling. “Everyone would suspect you. You did a murder exhibition skate last year.”

“No,” Yuri says, and then reconsiders. “Fine. Katsudon, you’ll kill him.”

“I’ll what,” says Yuuri.

“No one will suspect you, they’ll suspect me, it’s the perfect plan. No one thinks you could kill anyone.”

“He’s right. Let’s change your free skate,  _ solnyshko,”  _ Viktor says. “You can do a murder free skate. Surprise everyone.”

“You have a free skate already?” Yuri demands. “How?”

“We both have free skates,” Yuuri says. “We get a lot of ice time in Hasetsu, you know.”

“Did you choreograph them both?” he demands of Viktor.

“Of course.” Viktor smiles at him. “How are yours coming along?”

“You should do my short program again,” Yuri says, collapsing further into the couch. “Something that’s more me, though. Agape turned out to be…pretty okay, but I have an aesthetic and it’s not that.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Viktor says, and nudges him with an elbow.

“What?” Yuri glares at him. “What are you saying?”

It’s Yuuri who answers. Apparently they can do the stupid on-the-same-wavelength thing even without making eye contact, which would be a nice party trick if it weren’t so damn annoying. “Unconditional love? I think you’re doing pretty well.” Yuuri leans over Viktor to smile at him.

Yuri huffs. Viktor stands up, leaving Yuri to flop flat on the couch. Viktor picks up the glass of vodka with the melting ice cubes and walks into the kitchen. The only things Yuri can see from his position are the ceiling and Yuuri’s side, but he can hear the clatter of ice cubes against stainless steel as Viktor pours the vodka down the sink.

He comes back with a bottle of wine and three glasses. Yuuri objects, “You’re not giving Yurio alcohol.”

“He’s legal,” Viktor says.

“He is  _ not,”  _ Yuuri protests.

“I can have wine,” Yuri puts in. “I’m sixteen.”

“God,” Yuuri sighs. “This explains so much.”

Viktor laughs and pours. Yuri doesn’t know shit about wine but takes it when Viktor hands him the glass and examines the burgundy color. When he sips it, he’s surprised to realize it’s sweet.

“Did you have dinner?” Viktor asks.

“No,” Yuri says. “I told Yakov I’d eat with you.”

“I’ve been a terrible host,” Viktor announces, standing up as though Yuri actually came over for dinner instead of to interrogate him about his decade-old trauma. “Do we have anything to cook?”

“Probably not,” Yuuri admits. “I can go shopping tomorrow.”

“ _ I _ can go shopping tomorrow,” Viktor says.

“You forget milk and come back with weird fruit instead,” accuses Yuuri.

“You still can’t read the labels,” Viktor shoots back.

“Yes, I can,” Yuuri says.

Viktor snorts and walks back into the kitchen. Yuri follows, wine glass in hand. Viktor pulls a container out of the fridge. “What is this, Yura?”

Yuri squints. “Cottage cheese?”

Yuuri has come into the doorway and shoots Yurio a look of utter betrayal. “It’s yogurt!”

“You can mix it with granola in the morning and eat it then,” Viktor says. “I’m buying real yogurt.”

“ _ I’ll  _ buy real yogurt,” Yuuri says, “When  _ I  _ go shopping tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Viktor says, and puts the cottage cheese back in the fridge, his expression unbearably fond.

“Can we order takeout?  — we shouldn’t order takeout,” Yuuri holds a brief argument with himself. “It’s only seven-thirty, is the grocery store still open?”

“It’s June,” Viktor says. “We can do whatever the fuck we want.”

“I want pizza,” Yuri says.

Yuuri looks at him. “…now so do I.”

They order pizza and migrate back into the living room; Viktor lies on the floor with Makkachin while Yuri plays Monster Hunter with Yuuri. Viktor offers the type of deeply insightful commentary only available from someone with an entire dog on top of them, who has never internalized the premise or mechanics of Monster Hunter.

“We can do something you like,” Yuuri offers, looking back over his shoulder as Viktor cheerfully narrates their victory while they die for the third time in a row.

“I like this,” Viktor protests, though it comes out muffled because Makkachin has stuck a paw in his face.

“Okay love,” Yuuri says. He looks back at Yuri. “Ready to regain our honor?”

“Hell yes,” says Yuri.

They finish the entire pizza and the bottle of wine. After two glasses, Yuri doesn’t think he’s drunk, but he can feel the warmth of it in his chest. Yuuri has had three glasses and doesn’t look affected at all. Though Yuri’s seen him drink sixteen glasses of champagne, so he isn’t sure what he expected.

He glances periodically at Viktor, who just seems like Viktor, really. He doesn’t know shit about video games, he lets his dog get away with anything, and he latches onto Yuuri any chance he gets, but that’s normal.

_ You would have been three.  _

It’s pointless to look for aberrations in Viktor’s behavior, Yuri realizes, because there won’t be any. Viktor is Viktor; Viktor-who-won-six-world-championships-in-a-row and Viktor-who-was-sexually-assaulted-at-fifteen are the exact same person. There is no use looking for signs of a man who never had a chance to exist.

Yuri’s phone rings, cutting through his thoughts. He answers.

“Where are you?”

It’s Yakov. Yuri glances at the clock, which has somehow crept almost to ten o’clock without him realizing it.

“Yuuri and Viktor’s,” he says. “I’m staying overnight.” He glances at Yuuri when he says it, and then realizes it was in Russian.

“That’s fine,” Yuuri says, smiling at Yuri’s look of disbelief. “See, my Russian is getting better.”

“You’d better be on time tomorrow,” Yakov grouches.

“I will be,” Yuri says. He hesitates for a second, feeling suddenly like there is a gulf that he is shouting to Yakov across.  _ You don’t know, you don’t know, Viktor never told you.  _ It feels like he’s keeping a secret.

“Goodnight,” Yuri says, and hangs up as soon as he gets a grunt of affirmation.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks.

“Fine,” Yuri says. “I think I left pajamas here last time.”

“We washed them,” Yuuri tells him. “They should be in the wardrobe.”

The room is technically a guest room, but as far as Yuri knows he’s the only one who ever stays in it. When he opens the wardrobe, he does find his pajamas, some practice clothes, and an unopened pack of socks that weren’t there last time. He stomps very hard on the warmth that wells up inside him at the discovery.

He changes clothes and Yuuri finds him a toothbrush. He stands at the counter, staring into the mirror after he spits in the sink.

In the reflection, he sees Viktor enter the room and stand behind him.

“What?” Yuri asks. It comes out harsher than he means it.

Viktor doesn’t look bothered. “Can I braid your hair?”

“Yeah,” Yuri says. “Sure.”

Viktor gets a comb and some hair ties, and they end up back in the living room. Yuri sits on the couch while Viktor perches on the arm. Viktor is careful with Yuri’s hair, more careful than Yuri is. He barely feels the tug of the comb, even in the places where it’s snarled together. Yuuri comes in and sits on the edge of the coffee table, watching Viktor carefully divide the strands.

“I tried to learn to braid hair when I was a kid,” he remarks.

“Did you have long hair?” Viktor looks at Yuuri, but his fingers don’t slow down. “I didn’t see any pictures of it!”

“No,” Yuuri says. “I tried to practice on Mari, though, and she wasn’t having it.”

Viktor laughs. “I just practiced on myself. It’s so much easier on another person, though.” He’s almost done with Yuri’s hair already, since it’s just a braid down his back. “I could do something more,” he says, “But I think this is more comfortable to sleep on.”

“You can do something else in the morning,” Yuri says impulsively, and is rewarded with Viktor’s brightest smile.

In the morning, Yuuri makes eggs and rice while Viktor French-braids Yuri’s hair at the kitchen table. Sunlight spills across the kitchen table and it’s normal, it’s so normal. Yuri feels like he’s let go of some tension he’s been holding onto since Worlds.

Viktor trails him to the door, watching him put on his shoes. “Yura,” he says. “If you could not tell anyone...”

“Tell anyone what?” Yuri asks. “That you suck ass at Monster Hunter? Tough luck, old man, I’m telling everyone.”

Viktor smiles. “Thank you, Yura.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Yuri says, and walks out into the morning sun.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr as [catalists](http://catalists.tumblr.com).
> 
> Comments give me the will to live.
> 
> Update: [Plasmoduck](http://plasmoduck.tumblr.com) did [an incredible sketch](http://plasmoduck.tumblr.com/post/175123391802/there-was-a-game-on-the-victuri-bang-discord-and) from this fic, please go check it out!


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